


Memoirs of an Invisible Man

by caprigender



Category: The Invisible Man (1933), The Invisible Man - All Media Types, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of a character created to get around copyright laws. How Rodney Skinner came to become a thief, then the second invisible man, then a secret agent.<br/>Based on the comics, movie, and movie novelization of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Also based on the Invisible Man novel and 1933 movie. Includes easter egg references to many other public domain books and plays (in the way of the lxg)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My life as a thief

Some might say that powers come with a certain responsibility. The power of invisibility is not one of those powers, and to tell the truth, people don’t seem to expect much from you if that’s what makes you “extraordinary.” At the very least, they assume you’re dishonest. At worst they think you’re a raving lunatic likely to go off on a killing rampage at any second.

After meeting the original invisible man, I can’t say I blame them.

Excuse me; I’m being rude, aren’t I? Allow me to introduce myself; Rodney Skinner, Gentleman Thief and Invisible Man II.

I started my criminal career at the tender age of seven. Or was it four? I was young is all I know. Dearest Frankie said they’d picked me up down at the docks where Crusty Old Jake sat, mumbling to himself and anyone who’d stop and listen. I was taken in, as most of the street rats were, by an old kidsman known as the Artful Dodger. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.

Well, he raised us right, the old Dodger did. I grew up in a caring home where there was always someone around to help you, for a reasonable price. Though most of us would go out and find our own shelter more and more as we got older, if you ever hit a rut the Dodger was always there with a leaky roof over your head, moth-eaten rags for your blankets, and some ill-gotten food to drive away the hunger pains. And when his less savory suppliers came a-calling he’d do his best to keep us safe.  
Obviously, he couldn’t keep all of us safe, but he sure tried to. I guess I’ll never really know what made him protect us like that.

I had a few buddies I worked closely with through those years. There was Frankie, of course, but he was usually off with the older boys as I was growing up. I spent most of my life with Alfred Doolittle and, for a time, Ralph Rackstraw. We had some wild adventures, the three of us, until Ralph ran off to join the navy and “make his fortune.” Can’t say I ever forgave the little bastard for it. But Alfie and I got along just fine without him.

“It’s right damn selfish is what it is, if you ask me,” Alfie grumbled, “that’s what it is, Rodney, just another case of the selfishness of human beings. All they ever do is think about themselves, what they want, what’s good for them, never once stopping to think of how they’re affecting the people around them.”

I glanced over at him, covered in dirt examining the pocket handkerchief he’d just lifted from an old woman’s purse, “You’re talking about other people, right Alfie? Not yourself and your noble and selfless occupation as a pick-pocket?”

He looked up at me, shocked, “Well, of course I mean other people, Rodney, what you take me for? I have to be selfish; it’s how you and I keep up business. Problem is, there’s different types of selfish, Rodney, and Ralph was not a useful type of selfish. He’ll figure it out in the end, Rodney; he’ll find out that it was a stupid kind of selfish that he got all caught up in and then he’ll be sorry for it, though it won’t do him much good. It’s ‘cause of what I said, Rodney, that there’s different kinds of selfish.” I nodded. There wasn’t anything I could do to stop Alfred from voicing his views on the world, no matter how silly they might be, and I wasn’t in the mood to try. I just needed to work, get some odd trinkets of value, get them back to Dodger, get some food in my stomach and thoughts of Ralph out of my head. Ralph Rackstraw was gone and he’d taken his warm smile and good humor with him to god only knows where. It really was a good plan for him, he’d always wanted some kind of sea-faring adventure and the navy would keep him clothed and fed, but I still resented that he’d left us –left ME- with little more than a word of warning. “You see, Rodney, there’s selfish like you and me and the rest of Dodger’s gang, we’re doing it so we can live and all, because what are we going to do otherwise? We’ll be shipped off to the workhouses otherwise and never see another happy day; you know that’s the case in those places. And we know all these high-born ladies and gents don’t need half the stuff they run around with,” he waved the handkerchief at my face and I shoved him away. He stumbled but recovered and put the square of silk back in his pocket. “You know how we know this, Rodney?”

“Because we get along fine without it?” I answered.

“Cause WE get along fine without it! We don’t need fancy things except to sell them back to the people we stole them from and buy our food. Now, Rackstraw was always a different kind of selfish. He’d off and fall in love with ladies above his station and the trick is they’d actually like him back. He had secrets, I tell you, secrets to a lady’s heart, and that slimy old codger never bothered to share them with anyone else, especially not me. And then, then he up and leaves us for the bloody navy claiming he could make more money on it than on anything we do. Wouldn’t listen to a word of sense when I says he’s being an idiot, just gets offended and takes off. Just like that, out of our lives forever.” Alfie tugged down the brim of his hat and folded his arms over his chest. “Worst mistake of his life, if you ask me, bloody poof.”

I nodded, stiffly. I was mostly sure that last insult was just for flavor. Alfie was one of the thickest gents I knew, couldn’t see much further than the tip of his nose, metaphorically speaking. He’d only known Ralph as a ladies’ man, and a damn talented one, at that. I pushed the thought of Ralph’s warm lips on my neck out of my mind, spitting it out like a bitter taste. “Well, you’re right on most everything there.”

Alfie turned around indignantly, “I’m right on everything, what makes you think I’ve got something wrong?”

I grinned at him, my best debonair and charming grin, “He didn’t tell YOU anything on how to woo upper-class ladies, but I was his number one apprentice.” I dodged Alfie’s halfhearted attempt to throw a punch.

“Ah, come off it, you pale-faced git, we both know you’re as hopeless I am. You wouldn’t have the charm to woo an upper-crust whore. You’d just grab at her and run off as she set her dogs on you.”

“Maybe true, but at least I’ve got the option to never meet her.”

I put on my best smug grin as Alfie grumbled, “bloody hell, not this again.”

“Now, Alfie, mind your language and be happy that I had the patience to learn all the fancy writing and reading that you and Ralph thought was ridiculous. I told you it could come in handy if we actually paid attention to that fancy book stuff we got when that idiot Jack mistook that library for a mansion.”

“Hey, hey,” Alfie clamped a dirty hand over my mouth, “watch what you say about Jack. You know he’s Big Charlie’s favorite, you want to get us killed?”

I pushed him off of me and made a show of spitting the taste of his hand out on the pavement. “Relax, Alfie, do you see Big Charlie around here? Calm down.” Alfie checked the streets a few more times and shook his head. “Spoken words have a power, Rodney, I’ve seen it and it sure isn’t right to try and challenge it. You know if you talk about something long enough it influences things. The rest of the world , or even just the person next to you, words affect them, Rodney, they change the things what are already there and there isn’t much you can do to change them back once they have been changed. And that’s because-“

I growled in mock anger and stopped to lean up against a wall “God, Alfie, would you give it a rest? I know for a fact I’ve heard this speech at least a billion times before and it doesn’t get any more interesting with each retelling.” Alfred stared at me and crossed his arms, surprisingly quiet. “There, that’s better. Now, we ready to head back to Dodger’s?” I stuck my hands in my pockets and made a mental note of the contents. Two handkerchiefs, one embroidered but it was good quality silk and worth the extra work of removing the stitching; a pocket watch that seemed to be in working order, Alfie and I had wasted some time standing in front of a clock tower, seeing if the two were truly matched up; and half a roll that I’d stolen from a bakery for some sort of lunch. All in all, it wasn’t bad for a weekday afternoon. “And you’ve got a handkerchief and that wallet, right?”

“I do. It’s too bad that wallet didn’t have much in it. Could’ve used the extra money.”

“We could use a lot of things, Alfie. Come on, let’s get on back home.”

\---

As I’ve said before, the Dodger was a kidsman and to some of you gentler folk this might be considered the worst crime a person could commit, forcing children to do his dirty work, but he was a lot better than most of the criminals I saw crawling through the back alleys and I tell you there’s some out there treating people like I was much worse than Dodger ever treated his gang. Big Charlie was one of them.

He started out as a smalltime pickpocket and thief, like the rest of us, living in rundown buildings and coming to Dodger for a bite to eat every once in a while. Thing is, he was always a lot larger than the average boy and, unlike how it usually is in storybooks, his vicious looks were definitely in line with his personality. I hear he used to be careless as a pickpocket because he figured that even a grown man wouldn’t be able to win against him in a fight and take the stolen items back again, and for the most part he was right. 

According to Mrs. Hope, the lunatic old prostitute on Fleet Street, he got stealthier after being caught and beaten by the police, but I don’t know how true any of the story is. That’s the way with history back then. If you weren’t there, all you had to go by was the overblown gossip of street rats and whores.

By the time I showed up Big Charlie was a successful house-breaker but, as is often the case, he needed the help of a smaller companion who could fit in windows and open the house from the inside. This partner had to be small, a short and skinny man or, more often, a child. I was on the list of possible sneaks to be used, although I was in my teens by then, so I was a great deal larger than many other possible children. But what I lacked in the most efficient size, I more than made up for with stealth, smarts, and lock-picking skills.

Well, this may seem entirely off-topic, and probably is but you’re listening to what are possibly the ramblings of a madman so you don’t have much room to complain. The point is that in pondering the question of “Could I be a better thief than Charlie and his gang?” I began my journey towards meeting the original invisible man, both in flesh and in spirit. I say once again, he’s a right dreadful bastard, but I guess we’ll get to that later.

In any case, once I had realized that I wouldn’t need a breaker like, I had the brilliant idea to share my marvelous findings with Alfred. His response was a little more cynical and sarcastic than one would hope from a lifelong bosom friend and all.

“Oh, congratulations, Rodney! This is amazing! You’ve just invented robbery.”

“Well, there, see? It would work.”

“Don’t even think of it.”

“But it would.”

“We’re PICKPOCKETS, Rodney.”

“I’m going to do it.”

“Goddammit, Rodney, why do you want to do more work for less pay?”

“Who says it’d be less pay?”

“I says! What can YOU come out of a house with that will make it worth the effort of breaking in?”

“I dunno… Jewelry, silverware maybe?” I pondered this for a few moments, “I could sew a lot of pockets on the inside of my shirt, store more things in them. A lot of valuable small things ought to be worth the same or more than one valuable large thing” Alfred glared at me.

“You aren’t seriously considering this,” he said. I grinned at him. “God, Rodney, it’s a stupid idea.”

“But, see, that’s why it’s brilliant! And you know it’ll work.”

Alfie was very quiet for a while, which was unusual. I usually counted on him to talk me out of my stupidest ideas, like when I’d suggested that we steal a delivery cart full of baked goods. I was always thinking things up, but they were usually ridiculous and not exactly helpful. For the most part I went through with them anyways. Ralph and I had stolen that cart and driven it about three blocks before the runners caught up with us. We ditched the cart and ducked into a side-alley, up some pipes and in a window, where we sat and laughed as quietly as we could while our breathing slowed back to normal and we could hear the bow street runners giving up the chase. That was the real trick with my ridiculous plans; I was rarely successful, but I also never seemed to get caught. Now, Alfie’s lack of protest either meant that he agreed with my stupid idea or was too worn out to reason against it anymore. Neither of those options seemed very likely.

“You’re right, you know,” he sighed, “if anyone of this group was meant to be a house-breaker on his own, it’d be you.” I blinked in surprise. I was right? No, that couldn’t be, I was wrong and it was a stupid idea but that never stopped me from doing these things anyways. “Besides” Alfie said, echoing my thoughts “no matter how much I try to drive some sense into you, I know you’ll still go through with it.”

The grin on my face stretched from ear to ear, “Oh, I knew you’d come around, Alfie! I knew it was just a matter of time before you got bored of the lazy route and came to join me on the stupid and reckless side.”

“Now, hold onto your hat, Rodney, I said ‘on your own’”

“Of course you did, Alfie, but I’ll need someone to stand as my lookout, won’t I?”

\---

The lookout trick worked perfectly. Alfie was lazy and always wanted more credit than what he was worth, but I needed him along. Call it nerves or paranoia or whatever you like but I always work better in a group than by myself, no matter what I might say. Having him along for this job was really more of a security blanket than anything else.

It was a relatively simple break-in. We chose a house in the wealthier side of town, and as fewer and fewer people were walking the street I crept in through the back door used by the servants. I passed by the table where the butlers and maids would prepare tea for the house and I noticed a newspaper folded open to the “help wanted” section. Perhaps I was more stressed than I thought because I took the worthless paper and tucked it into one of the many new pockets in my outfit.

I opened cabinets and drawers, leaving the silverware which portrayed the family crest and was actually made of tin, anyways. Silly westies, the crested platters and odds and ends might’ve made them look richer from far away, but you don’t hold a spoon eighteen meters away from your face when you’re trying to eat with it. Still, I found a few things that would fetch a decent price and fit in one of my pockets. Bagged spices from the Far East, some fancy place-setters that were easily folded up and tucked away, this was going to be easier than I’d originally thought. I could leave now and the money we could get would be entirely worth the effort I’d made, but there was probably more upstairs.

After perhaps three seconds of inner debate, I decided to take my chances on the rest of the house. If I found some family jewels, even cheap ones, I could truly call this outing a success. I snuck through each room in near darkness, feeling around for small objects of value, slowly and carefully and as quiet as I could possibly be. By the time I made it up the stairs and found the family rooms where the more valuable possessions were kept, I was feeling much more confident.

I pushed open the door to the first room and made straight for the dimly outlined armoire where I figured the jewelry would be held. I slid my hand around the smooth surface and found what I was looking for. Light chains, lace pendants, there was a cameo pin that I decided to leave put in case it was a portrait of someone specific, the rest, I stuck in my pocket. I moved on to the first drawer, but as the wood slid over wood, I heard the rustling of fabric behind me.

“Edmund? Lydia? Are you back already?” croaked the tired voice of an older woman. I froze, still as a statue. I hadn’t thought there would be someone else in the house when I’d broken in. We’d made sure that the family who lived here would be out and about when I was working but there was obviously still someone here. It wasn’t that I was afraid of this woman, she sounded weak and frail, but she could scream and bring neighbors and police running in no time at all. “Are you there?” she asked and then she waited for a very long while. I stood very still, praying that it was dark enough that she couldn’t see me. My ears strained against the silence, broken by the steady ticking of the clock, but eventually I could tell that the woman had gone back to sleep. I let out a sigh of relief and realized I’d been holding my breath the entire time.

Right, that was too close; it was definitely time to get out of here. I grabbed what felt like a string of pearls, tucked it in my shirt and made for the door. I’d only just gotten to the stairs when I heard the front door crashing open under the force of a small, drunken parade. Apparently Edmund and Lydia had brought home some friends.

Not good, not good, not good at all. I backtracked down the hall to the window. That was my only option now. True, I was on the second floor of the building, but getting out of this with my life and perhaps a broken leg would be better than being dragged to the clink by a group of drunk-mad westies.

I frantically tore open the narrow outlet and looked out at the hard, unforgiving ground below. I paused; barely any distance away from me was a balcony on the second floor of the building right next to this one. That was my new best-case scenario. Without a second thought, I launched myself through the window and scrambled onto the platform that kept me from smashing painfully against the rock pathway below. I quickly ducked inside the dark room to catch my breath and arrange a plan of action.

“Hello there,” I whirled around to see a ten year old girl, lighting a candle by the side of her bed. The excitement of the night had enhanced my senses and in the first seconds of our encounter I noticed and memorized every detail. She wore a pale blue nightgown with a darker blue lace trim, her hair was light brown and hung in loose curls around her shoulders, she was skinny in a sickly way and her skin had a yellowish color that I don’t think was only the fault of the candlelight. Her eyes were dark brown and she stared at me with curiosity. The bedclothes piled up around her were pure white, the likes of which I’d only seen on newly stolen handkerchiefs and on the ruffled shirts of the wealthy. 

Suddenly, I realized she’d said something.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The girl looked at me in surprise, “I asked you what your name is. Why do you talk so strangely like that and why did you come in through my window?”

It seemed she was too curious to scream for an adult, which was a great relief to me. I smiled my most charming smile and made a large show of bowing to her, “My apologies, m’am, I’m Rodney Skinner, Gentleman Thief and I’ve come in through your window because I had a bit of a problem next door. Nasty people there, don’t you know?”

She frowned, “You don’t sound like a gentleman. Have you come to rob me? Well you can’t. I’m sick and it’s a terrible crime to steal from a sick little girl.”

“You’re sick? Well, deary, I’m sorry to hear that, but I’ll tell you this, any thief who ain’t a gentleman, like myself, would laugh at you and take everything you own, anyways. Me? I’m more respectable than that. Now, I wasn’t planning on robbing you, but knowing of the poor lady’s hardships, why it pains me to think that such an idea could pass through anyone’s mind.” The girl smiled. Oh, this was fun; I’d never gotten to play the morality game with anyone but beggars and thieves before. Now, an honest-to-god blueblood was impressed with my manners.

“Well, your talking is strange, but I think you sound like a gentleman,” she said, “I think I shall call you Sir Rodney the honorable. You shall be a nobleman in disguise. Like a knight! Have you read of King Arthur, Sir Rodney?”

“Only a small amount, little madame,” I answered, “We don’t put much stock in books where I come from.”

“Oh, well, they’re lovely stories and I read them all the time. That’s all I can do when I’m sick. I read books and the newspapers when I can get them. Mrs. Dean says a young lady shouldn’t read the papers and that they will just upset me, but I don’t mind.”

“But of course!” I exclaimed, remembering the old folded up paper in my pocket. I brought it out with a flourish. Her eyes lit up brighter than the candle at her side.

She clapped her hands in excitement before putting on a sort of mock-formality “Sir Rodney, would you be as kind as to hand me the gossip section of that paper?” I bowed to her and flipped through the flimsy thing, removing the dull help-wanted ads and anything else that didn’t seem exciting. I passed her the rest. Her eyes darted across the pages, fully sunk into those stories of scandal. I sat down on the floor and glanced through the pages I had left.

I don’t know how long the two of us sat in silence. Everything was calm and quiet, which was strange for me. Considering what had happened earlier that night, I thought it was a very nice sort of strange. Eventually, though, I began to think of Alfie. He was still on lookout, or perhaps he’d given up on me and run off to drink his sorrows and talk the ears off of anyone who happened to pass by. “I’m ruined, I tells you, ruined. My old chums, if you could even call them that, have left me. That idiot Rackstraw went off to fight for mother England what hasn’t done nothing to help him his whole life and Skinner went and got himself caught and likely killed since he’s used up all his luck, he has.” I could hear it now. And how was I to call myself a gentleman when I let some poor sob get himself talked to death all because I was reading a newspaper with a little girl?

I stood up and bowed to her. “Well, little madame, terribly sorry but I must be going soon.” Her face fell and she made a small, sad sort of sound.

“You can’t stay?”

“I’m afraid I must go on a quest to save some honest soul from the ravings of my poor squire, I’m sure you understand.”

She nodded, and the corners of her mouth turned up a bit more, which was lucky because if she’d kept up that kicked-puppy look I might never have left that room. “Do you think you could come back, Rodney? It gets awfully lonely here.”

I paused for a moment. I really shouldn’t come back, it was a bad idea. I’d just robbed her neighbors and an upper class girl reading gossip columns alone in a room with a street urchin thief wasn’t something many would deem acceptable behavior. I smiled at her, “Of course, and I’ll bring you another newspaper, alright?” Empty promises. Worse ones had been made before.

“Thank you, sir.” She paused, “if you don’t want to go through the house, there’s a pipe next to the balcony that goes all the way to the ground. Sometimes I think I’ll slide down it and run away to have an adventure, but I know I can’t.”

“Well, I thank you kindly miss…”

“Earnshaw. I’m Catherine Earnshaw III.”

“Well, my lady Earnshaw, I wish you a lovely evening and I shall be sure to come back very soon. Good night.”

“Good night, Sir.”


	2. I continue making questionable decisions

I really didn’t mean to visit Catherine Earnshaw again. I knew it was a bad plan, risky with no visible profit of any kind, besides, it’s not like I owed it to her to keep my word. So I really can’t explain why I kept finding myself scrambling up the pipe to her balcony time and time again, fingers gripping the cold metal, yesterday’s newspaper tucked into my jacket pocket. Alfie woulda said it was cause I had a death wish and then explained every reason why my visits were a terrible idea. Rackstraw woulda laughed and said it was for the adventure. Cathy woulda said it was cause of my “chivalrous streak.” I still don’t really know what to think.

Sometimes, we sat in silence. She read her newspapers, I read what few books she was allowed to have in her room. (“Father says they excite me too much and that it damages my health.”) After days of listening to Alfie and being in the chaos of the Dodger’s lair, the quiet was nice. Other times we talked for hours, I told her about my life growing up on the streets, about the Dodger’s gang, about my failed and succeeded plots and schemes. She told me about her family’s legend, at least what she had puzzled together of it from the whisperings of servants behind doors, and other ghost stories that she swore up and down were true, though I very much doubted it. I liked the stories, anyways, and I liked the way she told them, all drama and theatrics. She was very animated for an invalid.

It was reading the discarded bits of Cathy’s newspapers that I came across an advertisement posted by a Dr. Cranley in search of lab assistants. It wasn’t a well-paying job, but every little bit helped, and the work was mostly just sweeping up and making sure no one slipped in any chemical spills. The scientists there were a suspicious bunch, always looking over their shoulders and glaring at each other, but no one much minded me. They figured I wasn’t clever enough to make sense of their formulas, and they were mostly right, but I’m nothing if not too goddamn curious for my own good. I started lifting things from work, books mostly, but also small vials of chemicals. I’d read what was written, try to piece it together, and get a little hands-on experience, too. The information was fascinating, if confusing and complicated, but I really wanted to learn as much of it as I could. I only got more determined after meeting him.

Dr. Griffin.

Well, maybe “meet” is the wrong word for what happened. I mostly just saw him, but he made quite an impression. See, before then I hadn’t ever seen anyone else like me before. Albino, I mean. Guess you can’t really tell from looking at me, can you? (heheheh) I was in shock, stuck in mid-sweep, staring, slack-jawed at this man. He wore a suit and tie and a brilliant white lab coat, nearly the same color as his hair. He walked around as if he owned the place, which I knew wasn’t the case at all. A chemist’s salary, even at Dr. Cranley’s lab, wasn’t nearly enough to justify such a self-important attitude. Even so, he glared at everyone and everything like it was all beneath him, like he was already king of the world and the world just didn’t realize it yet. Sure, he wasn’t exactly handsome, but he was there and he wasn’t hiding. He did his work well and dared anyone to try and disrespect him. 

My insides flip-flopped and I suddenly felt a little self-conscious about my greasy, shoe-polish-dyed hair and grimy skin.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t give a shit about the albino street rat who’d just spent the better part of a minute gawking at him. He quickly gathered up some tubes and jars of chemicals and walked into the other room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

My first experience with the invisible man had gone quite well, and I was absolutely star struck.

I redoubled my efforts to learn from the books I had stolen. Cathy and I read them every night, studying formulas and equations. Sure, they were a little dry, and far less exciting than Cathy’s story books, but when you finally figured something out or realized you could understand the complicated mumbo-jumbo laid out on those chemical-stained pages, you felt on top of the world. Science became a sort of magical possibility, a faerie realm like the isle of Avalon where anything was possible and it didn’t matter if you couldn’t understand something because surely there was someone smarter out there who would be able to explain it all away.

That’s probably why Cathy’s little secret didn’t frighten me as much as it should’ve.

She was always muttering to herself under her breath. At first I figured she was reading along out loud, I’d done it enough when I was first learning, and some folk never grow outta that kinda thing. But sometimes it seemed like more than that, like she was having heated, one-sided arguments with someone who just wasn’t there. I would sit outside on the balcony before visiting her and listen as she discussed things with people who had no voice and were always gone by the time I came in through the window. I considered the thought that maybe the illness that kept Cathy cooped up in this room was not a physical one at all. This struck me as good news, the medical sciences were never my favorite to learn about, there was far too much blood for my tastes. However, the psychological fields were taking off, maybe in a few years they’d be able to find a cure for her and she could go out and have all those adventures she dreamed about. I decided it was my duty as her friend to investigate.

“Heh, so, Cathy,” I mentioned, flipping through a musty old chemistry book, “I’m curious, what exactly is this disease you have?”

“Oh, I’m not diseased, Rodney,” she responded absently, “Oh my, did you hear this? Some woman cyclist up in Boston beat a man for attempting to assault her. How exciting!”

“What?”

“It’s right here, Rodney, it says-“

“No no, not the paper,” I pushed my bangs back over my head, “you said when we met that you were sick. ‘Dreadfully ill’ if I remember right.”

She rolled her eyes, “Well I thought you were going to rob me, of course I played to your pity.”

“Hang on, so you’re not locked in this room by yourself all day and night? Hey-” I yelled as she rolled up her newspaper and hit me on the head with it.

“Shhhhhh! Of course I’m locked up in here all the time! My father THINKS I’m sick.”

“So you’re not?”

“No.”

“Well, why does he think that?”

She straightened out her newspaper, smoothing out the wrinkles. “My father is afraid of what he can’t understand.” She rolled her eyes while explaining, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world and I was a bloody imbecile for not understanding it right away. Cathy could be a bit of an arsehole sometimes. “He can’t understand what we can do. So he denies it, and when I don’t he locks me up for telling lies.”

That sounded like a rationalization to me. “So what is it, then? What can you do that he doesn’t understand?”

Cathy bit her lip and looked around the room, a little worried, “Well, I could show you, but it’s quite bizarre… um, I’ve never really done it for anyone else, it’s mostly just so I have visual connection and all and it’s a little impolite to just-… uh, yes of course, madame, if you think I should.” She turned back to me with a sheepish grin, “I don’t suppose you can hear her, but um, she said she would be happy to assist with my demonstration so, uh, I will try my best.”

Well, that settles it, I thought, my darling Cathy is definitely a lunatic. Still, it wasn’t like this really made a difference. So she talked to people who weren’t there, she was still the same company she was before, and besides, this just meant no one would think she actually had someone in her room if they heard her talking to me.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt a shaking hand grip my shoulder and turned to see Cathy half falling out of her bed. Her eyes were wide open and her other hand was clamped over her mouth. Before I could react, she crumpled to the floor, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

“oh god, oh god, oh god, Cathy? Cathy are you alright?” She didn’t respond. She’d fallen across my lap, face-down in the carpet by my knee, her elbow awkwardly digging into my ribcage. I gripped her shoulders and pulled her upright. Her eyes were still open, but the rest of her had gone slack. She didn’t respond. “Heheh, alright Cathy, very funny, I sure fell for it, didn’t I? You had me for a minute there, you know I actually thought something terrifying was happening” I have to admit, I didn’t sound very convincing. “Alright, come on now, that’s enough… Cathy?”

A bit of smoke seemed to come out of her mouth. I thought I must have been imagining it, but the cloudy material continued pouring from her lips and rising up to the ceiling. I let go of her and scrambled back across the floor. She sunk back down against the carpet and the green smoke just kept coming. Her eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and beginning to glaze over. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I kept hoping something would happen, that she would blink and then laugh at the terrified look on my face, but it didn’t seem likely. I didn’t know what I was seeing. It all seemed like a bad dream. I hoped that Cathy would shake me awake and tell me I had to be careful when falling asleep on her floor. No such luck. After a minute or so, the smoke seemed to slow. A moment later, Cathy was coughing and gasping for breath. She looked terrible, but she was alive.

She looked up, eyes red-rimmed and watery, and the little bit grinned at me.

“Well…” I started, but I couldn’t think what else to say. Are you alright? I’m so happy you’re still alive? Never fecking do that again as long as I live so help me? “What the feck was that?”

“Hee hee,”she giggled –she GIGGLED, can you imagine? After what she put me through she giggled at me- “well, I, uh, don’t really know, but you can see it, so that’s good. Look.” She pointed to the corner of her room.

“oh, so, you don’t know what made you collapse on the floor and vomit smoke for the past five minutes? Well, that’s very encouraging, clearly everything is fine.”

“Look!” she grabbed my face, turning my head towards where she had been pointing. I flinched away from her touch, but stopped when I saw what she’d been talking about.

The green smoke had taken the form of a woman in an old fashioned ballgown. The details were fuzzy, and difficult to make out since the smoke kept swirling around and the figure was constantly shifting, but it was clear that she did not approve of me. Couldn’t say why I got that feeling, but it was there all the same.

“So, who’s this?” I asked as if this was a normal kind of meeting.

“She’s never told me, actually, I don’t think she remembers, her dress looks very old” Cathy replied, also sounding as if the three of us were having afternoon tea and not an unscheduled séance. “But she usually stops in at least once a week to make sure I’m doing alright. I’ve taken to calling her the Comtesse, though I don’t know if that was actually her title in life.” Once a week? Heh, I eyed the phantom suspiciously. She shows up once a week and has the nerve to be judging me? I visited Cathy far more often than that. Green smokey bitch had no right.

“I don’t think she likes me.”

“Oh no, she really doesn’t. I’m surprised she volunteered to be seen by you, honestly,” Cathy had gone back to reading her newspaper.

I crinkled my nose at the ghost, “Oh? And why is that?”

“Well,” Cathy began again nervously, “she’s taken it on herself to protect me, you see, and… please don’t be offended but… she thinks your visits could be a threat to my, um, honor.”

Aheh, I’d figured as much. I couldn’t really blame the ghost, but the insult still stung. I tried leering through the blush I could feel creeping up to my ears, “Oh now, don’t worry, Missus Ghost. I’ve got plenty of other folks for my baser instincts to feed on. I swear on my honor I’d never lay a single, lecherous finger on your poor darling Catherine.” Cathy was blushing like mad, pretending that she was too busy reading her newspaper, but I thought I caught a hint of a grin on her face so I continued. “Unless, of course, she really wanted me to. Then I’d say my sticky fingers were perfect for the job.” My own stomach flip flopped and I tried not to think of the implications of anything I’d said. Sure, Cathy was an attractive little darling, but I knew I never had a real chance with her, and the idea of touching her just seemed wrong somehow, no matter how much I might have enjoyed it. The idea of touching anyone I wanted to touch seemed wrong, as if I might break them or maybe get them dirty. My bluff worked, anyways, Missus Snooty Ghost snuffed herself away in an offended hissy fit. I could almost hear her “well, I NEVER” as she disappeared from sight.

I looked over at Cathy. Her ears and cheeks were bright red, which was a distinct change from her usual waxy pale tone. I couldn’t see her face at all.

“Heheh, she seems like quite the charmer,” I joked, “Hope I made a good impression.” I heard a snicker behind the crinkling of the thin paper and smiled. Missus Ghost might not   
be too fond of me, but as long as Cathy still enjoyed my company, I couldn’t care less.

\---

That was the winter when Hawley Griffin disappeared, quite literally. The newspapers were buzzing with excitement. Dr. Cranley’s scientists were more terrified and suspicious than they had ever been. When the entire story came out, the lab half closed down. I was dropped faster than a sack of pig shit and it was back to stealing everything my filthy little pick pocket hands could carry. The magical world of science was closed on me and with it went order and logic and just the niftiest little bottles and machinery.

Still, I wondered how he could have done it. The papers assured everyone that the mad doctor’s experiment had only worked on him due to his unfortunate albino condition. The general public had nothing to fear, there would be no more invisible men. The Invisible Man’s method had been lost forever, and in any case, how many albinos could make sense of all that complicated scientific nonsense in the first place?

You can see that the answer was so clear, so obvious, it must have been fate. Here I was, a poor little albino thief who knew just enough of Griffin’s short-hand to follow instructions, and the perfect opportunity had just fallen into my lap. Griffin had made the mistake of waging war on the entire world. An invisible thief would cause much less harm, much less suspicion, much less fear, hysteria, mob violence, and yet, he’d be much better off, wouldn’t he? He could sneak into a house in broad daylight and take whatever he liked. He could have a damn good chance at making a fortune. Who cares about a reign of terror? An invisible thief would never go hungry again.

Just that thought alone was enough to spur me into action! I carefully studied any article about the Invisible Man incident that I could get my hands on. Griffin’s books had never been officially found, and the records made it sound like they had been destroyed somehow, but I knew better.

I packed up what little belongings I had in a small sack and snuck aboard the first train headed South. I was off to make my fortune.

\---  
From the desk of Miss Catherine Earnshaw III  
\---  
Dear Rodney,

I hope this letter finds you in good health.

It has been a few weeks since I have heard from you. I have waited up many nights to hear you climbing in my balcony window, but I always end up falling asleep. Father has been letting me out of the house more, he believes the fresh air might soothe my mind.

I have pleaded with Mrs. Dean to bring up the popularity of séances as a legitimate pastime for young ladies, even those of fine moral character. I believe I could offer much help to those struggling to overcome the grief of a deceased loved one, and I have learned another skill, which I believe may prove just as useful. Are you familiar with possession, in which a ghost or demon takes hold of the body of a human and uses it as its own? Well, I have found a way to induce this state upon myself! This may sound terribly unsafe, but I assure you, Rodney, I am always firmly in control. Why, just the other day I was able to grant a recently deceased child her last wish. Poor darling had died of Cholera and she wished to taste a chocolate tart for the last time. I believe I may actually be doing this world some good. I only wish my dearest friend could be around to see it. I believe you would be quite impressed with me were you here to see it all.

Do please return quickly, I haven’t a clue where to send these letters.

Yours truly,

Catherine Earnshaw III (Miss)

\---

The town of Iping had settled down from its brush with the extraordinary a few months earlier. By the time I arrived, it was back into business as usual. The increased police forces and patrols had been called off. The journalists had all finished their stories and returned to their original towns. The excitable townspeople had gone back to their small-town gossip. The sun was setting over the horizon as I slipped off the train and into the woods surrounding the town, just before it pulled into the station. I hadn’t paid for a ticket so it had been a cold and uncomfortable journey from London in the back of a cargo hold. I didn’t much mind, though. Train tickets cost money and I needed to save what little of that I had for the inn.

After a short trek through the woods and into town I came across the building I was looking for. Now, if I’d been in Thomas Marvel’s shoes, I would have named his establishment the Innvisible Man, but I suppose we can’t all be dashingly clever bastards, and Marvel was definitely not a clever man. It was clear to me that Thomas Marvel, the homeless man that Griffin had threatened into helping assist him in his dirty work, had spent all the money the two of them stole from the bank on his new inn. I’d figured this man also had Griffin’s journals, or at least, he knew where they were.

It was late when I ended up knocking on the door, and with the time of year, he couldn’t have been expecting many customers. I heard scrambling in the front room and drawers being slammed. It sounded like Mr. Marvel was in quite a hurry to hide something. This was almost criminally easy. The world was practically begging me to steal those journals.

A moment later the door of the inn opened a crack and Thomas Marvel stuck his haggard red face out to glare at me.

“Yes? Hello? What do you want? I don’t want any solicitors here.” He wheezed at me.

“Oh, I’m not selling anything,” I moved to stop him from closing the door on me, “I was actually looking for a place to stay tonight.”

The door flew open and Mr. Marvel grabbed me by the collar and pulled me inside. “Well, why didn’t you say so, sir? We have many lovely rooms here at the Invisible Man Inn, most of them empty right now. Will you be staying long, sir? Do you have any luggage coming in? It can be sent for by tomorrow.”

“Aheheh, well, I don’t have any luggage, no…. or that much money. I won’t be staying long, um, what is your cheapest room?”

Marvel’s buddy act dropped faster than Alfie’s interest once you said “work.” He cleared his throat, “That’ll be ten shillings for a room for the weekend, sir. Would you like meals included? Only a pound extra.”

I dug through my pocket and barely came up with the sum he was asking. My stomach growled. “Aheh, no thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

“I will show you to your room, sir.”

I had to hand it to Marvel, the room was worth the price. I let out a low whistle as the man bustled about the room, setting up the last homey touches. I’d never had a bed with an actual clean mattress before, certainly not one filled with actual feathers. We were lucky to get the stained straw ones at the Dodger’s place. I sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off my boots.

“Can I take your coat and hat for you, sir?” I hesitated. If he recognized I was albino and figured I was here for the books I could be in serious trouble. I decided to trust that the room was dark enough that he wouldn’t notice and handed him my outer clothes. “If you change your mind about the food, breakfast will be ready tomorrow at eight.” He closed the door behind him.

I collapsed backwards on the bed, reminding myself not to get too comfortable. It was get in, steal the books, and get out. I couldn’t fall asleep on this job. Still, it was too early to sneak down and steal the books now. I had to find some way to entertain myself until Marvel was asleep.

I smirked to myself as my hands traveled down to unbutton my pants. Entertainment was never too hard to come by.

\---  
From the desk of Miss Catherine Earnshaw III  
\---  
Dear Rodney,

My father has allowed me to start a séance business of sorts!

I am terribly excited by all this business. I thought he would never give in to my pleading, but he has and I couldn’t be happier. 

Well, perhaps that is a bit of a hyperbole. I truly am very happy, but success and good fortune are always more enjoyable when shared with friends. I can’t believe you would have left me forever without a word of where you were going. Truthfully, there are times when I fancy I hate you, but perhaps that is merely bitterness speaking. The thought that you have left me hurts my heart, but not as much as the thought that you might have been somehow injured or worse. I hope for your sake that you are simply busier than usual and that we may meet again soon.

Sincerely yours,  
Catherine  
\---

It was past midnight when I snuck down the stairs in near darkness to the front room where Mr. Marvel had been sitting before I’d shown up. The light of the moon peeking through the window combined with the dying fire was enough for me to make my way across the room to the cabinets. Once I reached the drawers I lit a candle and set to work picking all the locks open. It was simple enough, within five minutes every cabinet, drawer, and closet was open. The bad news was I still hadn’t found what I was looking for.

I sat down on the floor behind the counter and considered my problem. If I was Thomas Marvel, where would I hide my incredibly valuable and secret books? I stared at the cupboards in front of me. I’d probably have used some sort of safe, but maybe Mr. Marvel wasn’t that smart. Or maybe he didn’t want to arouse any suspicion with safes and locks. Assuming he had been hiding the books when I showed up, what clues did that give me to where they might be hidden. I thought back to a few hours earlier when I’d knocked on the door. I remembered slamming cupboards, key turning, and a weird jingling. Aha! I jumped up and pulled out the silverware drawer. Jingling. And, just as I suspected, the space for the forks and knives wasn’t quite as deep as the drawer looked from the outside. I slid my finger along the inside edge of the drawer. Sure enough, there was a small opening to lift away the false bottom and get to another compartment underneath. I lifted it as carefully as I could. Marvel was cleverer than I’d given him credit for, the silverware worked as a safety measure. If I didn’t handle it delicately the clattering would give me away. I set the silverware on the countertop and brought the candle over to see what I’d found.  
I grinned and scooped up the tattered notebooks. I flipped through the weathered pages, grinning when I recognized Griffin’s sprawling shorthand. Yep, this was what I’d been looking for. I quickly replaced the silverware drawer and blew out the candle. I had to get out of there before Marvel decided to come down and check his precious books. I grabbed my coat and hat hanging by the fireplace and rushed out into the cold morning air.

I took in a deep breath. Success sure did feel fantastic.


	3. I become Invisible

\---  
From the desk of Miss Catherine Earnshaw III  
\---  
Dearest Rodney,

I write to you in the hopes that someday I shall give you these letters and you shall read them and laugh. When I see you again we are sure to have a wonderful time.

My business is going very well, considering how many spiritual mediums are being proved fake by so many prying journalists. A few such spies for my beloved newspapers came in and tried to disprove my methods. I made the front page, you know. It was wondrous! I was so terribly excited to be featured in the newspaper, which as you know was such a source of joy for me during those years I was confined in my room. I only wish you could have been there to share the moment with me.

Where are you, anyhow? You simply disappeared one night and I haven’t a clue what you might be up to. I do hope you return soon. I miss you terribly.

Love,   
Cathy  
\---

It took another three years to decipher the notes, gather the supplies I needed, and to build the machine that would turn me invisible. I stayed locked away in the run down shack I was using as a hiding spot for days on end. I ate little and only slept when I wasn’t able to steal enough candles to make working at night worthwhile. I kept up my thieving business but my marks were mostly other scientists and universities where I could find the chemicals and machinery I needed. By the time I needed test subjects, most of the laboratories were on their guard. The suspicious bastards knew someone was breaking into their top secret workshops, but they were so self-absorbed they all thought the culprit was a rival scientist trying to steal their formulas and copyrights. Ha, as if I needed their dull experiments. 

The test rats I managed to steal were awful, ill-tempered little creatures. Dreadful as they were, their past behavior didn’t exactly soothe my conscience as the nasty things writhed in pain from the blood-bleaching formula. I did not sleep easy that night, and it wasn’t just because I knew that I’d have to go through what they were going through if I wanted to achieve my goal. Griffin had tested the invisibility formula on a cat. I wondered if he’d felt guilty about it. His notes were cold and calculating and offered no insight into any moral issues he took with his work.

What the notes lacked in fancy emotional value they more than made up for with functionality. My machine worked. Within a few days I had a horde of nasty, vicious, invisible rats.

And then it was my turn.

I’m not a fan of medicine, as I’ve said before, there’s just too much blood. I held the syringe full of opium and monocaine up to the vein on my left arm. The needle caught the light and I hesitated. “God, that’s a large thing to be stabbing into yourself,” I murmured. Maybe this wasn’t going to work after all. I couldn’t very well go out and find some doctor to help. “Hello, sir, do you remember that time when some scientist became invisible and attempted a reign of terror? Fancy we do it again, eh?” Anyone in his right mind would be off to get the police in no time and that didn’t actually fit into my schedule well. There was nothing else for it, I decided. I clenched my teeth and sunk the needle into my skin, forcing myself to watch as it hit the vein before I pushed down the plunger that shot the mixture into my blood.

For a few minutes nothing happened. I sat still on the floor, wondering if the serum would even work. My breathing slowed and I felt the drug mixture taking its effects. I relaxed back against the wall, a feeling of peace washing over me. Strange, it didn’t hurt at all; maybe the effects were different on humans than they were on rats. I didn’t think or worry about the scientific implications of that thought, namely that if the serum didn’t cause the same side effects it also might not bleach my blood correctly. Everything was going to be fine; there was a strange tingling feeling in my fingertips and toes. I giggled as the sensation moved up into my arms, legs, torso, soon I was tingly all over. I laughed again, wiggling my fingers slowly. The feeling grew and continued to grow. The tips of my fingers started to sting. I stopped laughing. The stinging grew more painful. I clenched my teeth as the stinging moved slowly up my arms. There was a stab of pain in my chest. I gasped. My heart was on fire. I was burning from the inside out, I could feel it. The serum travelling through my veins was burning me. I dug my nails into my arms, trying as hard as I could not to scream. Screaming would reveal where I was hiding. Screaming would alert the police. Screaming would get me a date with the hangman’s necktie. Screaming would kill me. But I was already dying.

So, while a more poetic man might have compared my writhing on the floor in pain from a blood-bleaching serum to the ghost-calling spasms of darling Catherine, I was more concerned with keeping myself quiet. Perhaps, if I’d been more myself I’d have thought about her and wondered what she was doing, but I hadn’t seen the little bit in years and, again, I was writhing in pain as though my own blood was on fire. That kind of thing can really distract a man, you know? It’s hard to get the blood boiling for a lady, no matter how lovely, when you feel as if your blood is actually boiling.

Luckily for me, I eventually passed out from the pain. I woke up the next day sore and bruised, but ultimately alright. I glanced around my dank surroundings. The abandoned shack was still, well, abandoned by the world. I dusted myself off and stumbled towards the cracked mirror in the corner. I had to make sure that the serum had worked, but how would I know?

I grinned. The blood-bleaching had obviously worked. The traces of red in my mouth and around my eyes, the slight lines of veins and arteries, and the last hint of pink in my skin had all disappeared. I could have been a stone statue if I stood still enough. That would’ve been entertaining. Who in their right mind would want a statue of a filthy thief like me? I laughed and struck a pose.

“Oh, monsieur,” I said in my best French accent, “You think I would be zee best model for your sculpture? I don’t know what to zay, I am le flattered, monsieur! ehehehe” My laughter felt hollow, lonely even. Most everything sounds lonely when you're alone, I suppose. Success is nice and all, but it's certainly a great deal less sweet when you've no one to share it with.

Still, I was successful! There was only one thing left to do. I turned to the machine taking up half the room.

“Alright then, my freaky darling, here I come.”

\---

Less than an hour later I stood in front of the mirror again. Walking without seeing my own feet was going to take some getting used to. I’d had to cut my hair since the shoe polish hadn’t turned invisible with me and I ran my hands over my head again. Nearly bald felt very strange, but it was still the least strange thing I’d done this day. I’d had to wash up since the layer of dirt on my skin showed off where I was about as well as if I was one of Cathy’s ghosts. These clothes would have to go as well. Still, I figured I could get new clothes and make them invisible, too, which would save me the trouble of running around starkers in the London wintertime, when it came about. I glanced down at my feet, or really, where my feet were supposed to be. I wiggled my toes against the packed dirt floor. God, this was bizarre.

Now, I had noticed when I cut my hair that it was going to be difficult for me to steal things since even with my hand closed around something, you could still see it floating in midair. All my sleight of hand tricks would be next to useless if I couldn’t use my own body to hide things. Even putting things in my mouth wouldn’t work. People may not have been bothered by a floating pocket watch before the invisible man’s murder spree, but I doubted people had forgotten enough in just a few years that floating objects would go entirely unnoticed.

Breaking into houses would be easier, but getting out with enough loot to make it worth my while would be nearly impossible. I needed a partner, someone who would be able to take my loot and carry it for me. Griffin had needed Thomas Marvel because he didn’t have anyone else to turn to, any of his colleagues would have turned him in immediately. As for me, I wasn’t that limited.

\---  
From the desk of Miss Catherine Earnshaw III  
\---  
Dear Rodney,

I made the newspapers again, did you happen to see? The man said I’m one of the most gifted practitioners of voluntary possession of the age. Hear that? “One of” that means there are more people like me, Rodney. Can you imagine?

In fact, he said one of his collegues had shown interest in working with me, figuring out the science of séances. Can you imagine that? Devices that could help one find ghosts or summon them. One could speak at one’s own funeral, comforting your loved ones. Or really, death in itself could become meaningless!

It’s a brave new world of technology, Rodney, and they’re asking me to help. I only wish you were here with me, I’m certain that you could provide valuable insight and much needed support. I wish you’d come back Rodney, I’m starting to think I may never see you again and all these letters will be written for nothing.

Always yours,  
Cathy  
\---

I sat outside the door of Alfie’s favorite pub. We’d grown apart since he’d got a fine upstanding job. Last time I’d seen him he had two kids already, though it only mattered as much as they’d come around begging him for money when he got it. To be honest, it was the second closest I’d ever seen to a real family and between his kids screaming and Cathy sitting quietly in her room, waiting for her own father to stop hating her, I have to say, I preferred my own childhood to these sad examples of family.

The cheering in the pub grew louder and I knew it was only a matter of time before Alfie would be kicked out into the streets. I heard his voice, singing an old drinking song at the top of his lungs, getting most of the words wrong. It faded into the rest of the voices and a few moments later he stumbled out, humming to himself and swaying a little as he walked.

I grinned, “Alfie, how about this now, old friend.” He looked around, startled.

“Rodney? Where’ve you been, mate? Haven’t seen you for years!” he paused, “Haven’t seen you yet, where are you, Rodney, come on out.”

“I’m right here, Alfie, I need your help with something,” I tapped him on the shoulder. He whipped around and looked frightened when he didn’t see me.

“Rodney… come on, this ain’t funny, Rodney, what’s going on?” he gasped, “You’re dead, aren’t you? You’ve come back to haunt me. Why’d you do that, Rodney, what’d I ever do to make you want to haunt me in the afterlife? Is it cause I took your sweet roll that one time a few years back and didn’t tell you? Did another ghost tell you what I did? I’m so sorry about that, Rodney, please don’t haunt me for the rest of my life, I can’t deal with ghosts.”

“Alfie, I’m not dead,” I interrupted, “But thanks for telling me about that sweet roll thing, you know I punched Ralph in the face for that?”

“Well, I really wasn’t going to tell you after I saw that,” he flinched, “you’re going to hit me now, aren’t you?”

“Not right now, maybe later,” I admitted, “right now, I need your help. You see, I’m invisible. I need a partner.”

His eyes widened, “No, you mean like the scientist from a few years ago? The one out in Iping?”

I nodded but then remembered he couldn’t see me anymore. “Heheh. Yes, like that but with less murder and more money. You and I are gonna be rich, Alfie.”

“Filthy rich, Rodney?”

“Filthy rich, Alfie.”

\---

We made a good team, Alfie and I, stealing all sorts of trinkets from wealthy houses in broad daylight even, if we felt like we needed a challenge. Whatever we gathered we sold to Dodger, who was still the best fence in London, even if we were too old to be part of his gang anymore. Life was great; we had enough money for food with plenty left over for entertaining ourselves. I bought clothes that were easy to slip on and off and a can of greasepaint, the kind actors use to make themselves look normal under all those lights, and a pair of dark glasses to cover my eyes. Alfie bought nothing but gin for the first few weeks but after that he would sometimes invest in supplies for his family. He even bought a doll for his daughter, Eliza. The two of us went out to see Burlesque shows because who could pass up a chance to see women in pants? Yes, yes, I know upstanding folks with tight-laced morals, such as the likes of all of you, wouldn’t be caught dead in the middle of such a scandal. Well, forgive me for being low-brow and remember I was probably born in a ditch.

I still had to be careful to go out when it was dark and make sure not to open my mouth too wide, but it was nice to be able to go out and about without having to hold my breath and dodge anyone who came near me.

I even tried to go see Catherine once, through the front door and not climbing up the pipes and through the window this time. All dressed up in my new clothes I looked very fashionable for a former street urchin. The more money you have the more of it you’re expected to spend on looking nice. Strange, I always thought that food was more important than appearances, but Cathy had told me there were many people who would rather starve than dress below their station, and that a few of those people actually had experience with starvation. I found it hard to believe, but while I was the expert on street life, she was the expert on fashion and rich folks. If I wanted to be a gentleman, I had to act like one. That meant fashionable clothes were something I’d have to figure out eventually.

I knocked on the door, the sound muffled by my gloves. A woman who looked about forty five years old answered. “Good day… sir.” She said as though she wasn’t sure if she should be calling me “sir.”

“Good day to you, madam,” I tipped my hat, not taking it off since it might have smudged my grease paint. She narrowed her eyes at my accent; it usually had that effect on people above me on the social ladder. “Is Catherine Earnshaw at home?”

The woman stiffened when I mentioned Cathy’s name, “Miss Earnshaw grew tired of the city air and moved out to her family estate in Yorkshire.”

My heart sank a little. I’d been looking forward to seeing her again. But I was not sure how exactly to ask that and actually get an answer from this terrifying stone wall of a woman. “Oh, well, in that case I’ll just leave.” I murmured. I turned to go and heard the door slam shut behind me. As soon as it did, I turned into the alley on the side of the house. I looked around to make sure nobody was watching and slipped off my gloves, sticking them in the deep pockets of my coat. Grabbing a hold of the pipe, I scrambled up to the balcony like I always had. Cathy’s room was empty, alright, so the woman hadn’t been lying about her being away. I guess she had to have gone back to the moors.  
I slid down the pipe to the ground and pulled my gloves back over my hands. It was too bad I didn’t know where in Yorkshire her manor-house was. I missed my dear Cathy, but what could I even do? I’d probably never see her again.

I glared at a small rock in my path and kicked it across the street. I hadn’t even told her what my plan was, hadn’t bothered to go and see her when I got back into London, hadn’t gotten to tell her that she looked top-notch every time I’d seen her. I'd been so wrapped up in my scheming. How had I lost sight of her like that? How had I been stupid enough not to trust her with my plans? What could I do about it now? Not bloody much. And now I’d scuffed up my nice new shoes in the dirt. Ah well, it didn’t matter if I looked like a gentleman anyways. What use is a gentleman without a lady, after all?

\---  
From the desk of Miss Catherine Earnshaw III  
\---  
Dearest Rodney,

I am writing this letter knowing for a fact that it shall never reach you, for I do not know your address and it is quite possible that you do not have one. Please excuse my frankness; your company has that effect on me. It is something Mrs. Dean has told me countless times is unladylike. Why, sometimes, I even notice myself speaking with your lilt, isn’t that curious? I daresay my entire family questions my moral character for it, but they can do nothing of it.

That is, it used to be they could do nothing of it.

The main purpose of this letter is to inform you that I have moved back to my family’s manor house in Yorkshire, Thrushcross Grange. It is a dismal and secluded place where I hope I shall still be able to continue my career as a spiritual medium as well as continue my work in the sciences of the formerly living. In fact, it might even be a boon to my business, holding séances in such a gloomy setting. I wished to inform you of this so that you might come and visit me one day, but as the moving day approaches and you remain absent from my balcony, I do not hold the hope that I shall ever see you again.

Due to this unfortunate turn of events and the fact that I am confident this letter shall never be read by anyone, I am about to be unashamedly forward about a delicate subject. I greatly admire you, Rodney. I have been fascinated by you ever since you stumbled into my room almost ten years ago. Over time, that fascination turned to fondness and that fondness turned into a secret adoration that I have kept quiet for quite some time. If you asked me, right this moment, to marry you, I would do it without hesitation. We’d create such a scandal it would be in papers around the world that very week, and I wouldn’t care a whit.

Perhaps I only feel this way since it is a purely hypothetical situation. I know for a fact that you will never ask this of me and so I can make all my claims, but I like to believe that I am being sincere. I like to believe that I would forsake everything for you. I like to believe it might have been a possibility that you could have admired me as well, that I was more than just the sickly looking girl who could talk to ghosts. However, I doubt that this could have been true.

I hope against hope that we may see each other once more, but I cannot wait forever, Rodney.

Lovingly yours,  
Cathy  
\---

I wandered the streets completely invisible sometimes, just for the freedom of it. You had to stay away from crowds and the filthy puddles of water, but watching people going about their lives was strangely comforting. It was summertime and the sun beat down on the street. I could feel the heat reflecting off of the buildings around me. I’d found that since I became invisible, the sun didn’t irritate my skin at all. It was very strange to be out in the sun without clothes and a large, ragged hat to protect me from burns. I grinned; it was funny to think of how all these people would react if they could see me, just standing there, naked, watching them. The world passed me by as if I didn’t even exist. I chuckled to myself but the laugh sounded hollow. That was happening more often, I found, especially when I’d gone for too long being less than a shadow.

A man in a suit walked by, looking at his pocket watch. I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. He jerked around, looking directly at me, or through me, really. For a moment he stuttered and glanced around, confused, but then he shrugged it off and continued on his way. I let out a small sigh. I still existed.

I heard the bells of some clock strike four in the afternoon. When Alfie and I weren’t doing anything, this was usually when I would wander out to a park to convince people walking alone that they were mad by talking with them. I’d had some interesting conversations, but today I didn’t really care. I went home instead. Actually, the rickety one-room shack where I’d built Griffin’s machine wasn’t really “home” but it was where I slept, ate and stored my things, so it was pretty close. I pulled the cork out of a bottle of gin and took a swig. Cheap stuff, but it was still good. I watched as the alcohol made its way down to my stomach and disappeared. Food usually took a while longer to go away, generally about an hour, but it would go away eventually. Meanwhile, I wore my jacket or tried not to look down at myself. I tell you, I’ve learned more about what happens in the human stomach than I ever wanted to know since I turned invisible. It is not pretty.

There were a lot of small drawbacks like that. I couldn’t go out invisibly for a while after I ate. And even then it was best if I didn’t eat very much. I had to keep myself clean of dirt, but the water I used to wash would hang on my skin for a while. If I got myself cut on something, the blood would turn visible as it got sticky and scabbed, so I had to be very careful. I also learned that other body fluids became visible once they hit the open air. So wanking in public was only for the days when I was feeling very brave or stupid.

That was another thing I hadn’t thought through before becoming invisible. It was bloody hard to get laid. Thanks to Griffin, I had to be as stealthy as I could and not let anyone know about my… condition. Alfie knew, but he was my partner in crime, he had to. Any one else was untrustworthy. Anyone could turn me in to the police, especially a terrified working girl. Even in the complete dark, I was paranoid. Scenarios of discovery ran through my head at lightning speed and weakened my resolve. Eventually I stopped trying, it hardly seemed to be worth the trouble.

No matter, I had a decent life, I could figure out how to fix this problem later if it became more of an issue.

I slipped into my coat and buttoned it up. I was hungry after a long day of wandering around London on an empty stomach. Before I could tear off a chunk of bread, there was a knock at the door. I sighed and moved to put on a pair of pants, my paint, and my gloves. The knocking grew louder and whoever it was kept rattling the door, but it was locked tight. When I was done dressing fully, I unlocked and opened the door.

The man standing there looked middle class. Not wealthy but not dirt poor. He wore a suit similar to the ones I’d seen Dr. Cranely wear outside of the lab. Perhaps he was also a scientist. My blood ran cold. What was a scientist doing here? He smiled at me, his moustache turning up at the corners, but I could tell he was not happy.

“Mr. Rodney Skinner?” He asked.

I frowned at him, “Who wants to know?”

“Dr. John Watson of the British Intelligence Agency. No, you’ve never heard of us. That’s because it’s a secret organization. We’re here to offer you employment.” He sounded bored as he absentmindedly toyed with the handle of his walking stick, as if he’d given a similar speech many times before.

“Well, that sounds lovely, but excuse me if I’m not interested.” I began to close the door.

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Skinner, we know your secret. If you refuse to cooperate, we shall have to take you in by force where you will be tried for crimes against nature and the English government.”

I froze, “You know? How?”

Dr. Watson sighed, “Deductive reasoning, of course. You were a bit of a challenge, Mr. Skinner, led me on quite a chase, I have to admit, it was actually enjoyable, but you can’t hide from me,” he paused, as if thinking something over, “Tell you what, I really did enjoy finding you. Let’s say I give you a few minutes head start. Keep in mind; you’ve lost your ally. Yes, we know about Mr. Doolittle, and I must congratulate you on being able to greatly improve upon the original invisible man’s plans. However, you are alone now. You won’t last long. On the other hand, you could make this easier for all of us and just come with me.”

“I think I’ll take my chances.”

He pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it, “Five minute head start it is, then.” And with that, he turned around with a military click of his heels and walked away. Five minutes. I had five minutes to get as far away from here as I could. I couldn’t just leave the machine and notebooks lying around, but I also couldn’t take anything with me. I stared at the bottles of gin on the floor. There was only one thing to do.

It nearly broke my heart to light my beautiful machine on fire. The design had been Griffin’s but this one I’d painstakingly put together all on my own. She was a beauty, and now I had to destroy her: her and the notebooks, and all my other possessions, for that matter. I couldn’t take any of it with me. I struck the match and dropped it in the damp mess. I looked down where the notebooks lay in their own puddle. On second thought, maybe the method didn’t have to die. I grabbed the books and left the shack in flames. Quickly ducking into an alley way so I wouldn’t call attention to myself, I searched for a place to hide the books. I continued to move through the streets, looking for somewhere safe, somewhere I could get back to them. At the same time, I had to keep moving. I didn’t know how that agency man had found me, but I was absolutely terrified that he’d do it again. It didn’t matter what he said about a job, I knew that no one in their right mind would allow the second invisible man to live after what the first one had done, and it didn’t help that I was a criminal, no matter how harmless. If I was caught, they would not let me live.

I stashed the books in a hole in a wall in an alley, almost impossible to find unless you knew what you were looking for. The notebooks blended in with the soot covered brick. Feeling confident that the knowledge was safe where no one else could get it, I slipped out of the alleyway and went to find somewhere to hide.

\---

The weeks I spent running from the Agency and Dr. Watson was quite possibly the worst time of my life. Before I could find reliable shelter, it began to rain. I was wet, cold, and slightly visible with nowhere to go to dry off. I caught a nasty fever from being outside in the wet for days on end, huddling in the back of an alley, praying no one would see me. I couldn’t find any food, although that didn’t matter much since I had no where I could safely eat and digest for a couple of hours. I hadn’t known hunger pains like this since before I’d joined the Dodger’s group.

A week passed and my sickness got worse. I was light headed and dizzy, the air was far too hot one minute and a few minutes later I would be curled up as tightly as I could be, freezing to death. I couldn’t go to a doctor, I didn’t know what was wrong so I couldn’t steal a cure, I couldn’t even think straight half the time. Food, drink and rest were all too risky for me. Still, in the back of my mind I knew that if I didn’t find a way out of this, I would die.

There’s only so long one can stand that kind of physical torment when another option is available, and while I’m not one to give up life so quickly, it’s amazing how the idea of a slow death from disease and dehydration can warm a man to the idea of a quick, military-style execution. If only I knew for certain that is what they would be offering me.  
I wasn’t fully awake when Dr. Watson finally found me again and I wasn’t actually certain what he said to me. Fever does that to a man, makes everything feel like a dream where your head is stuffed with feathers, your throat is dry and the idea of eating anything makes you retch in the corner for hours on end. He made a motion with his cane and a group of men in white coats rushed over, picked me up and carried me towards a fancy-looking coach. The inside was red, deep red. I lay on the plush seat where the white-coats had set me down and stared at the ceiling. The Doctor came in and sat on the other bench. I looked over at him for a moment. My vision blurred and darkened and I fell asleep in the deep, dark red.


	4. A League of Sorts

I woke up, which I wasn’t expecting at all, in a small cot with a feather mattress, warm blankets, and pillows. I stared up at the ceiling. It was yellow and decorated like the ceiling tiles in Cathy’s house. I had no idea where I was or why anyone would have bothered to keep me comfortable if their plan was to execute me. I couldn’t believe the Doctor’s job offer had any truth in it. I thought it was just a lie to get me to come quietly. But if they wanted to kill me, they could have left me in the streets to die, or locked me up somewhere to rot, or just cut my head off while I was too fuzzy to struggle or even know what was going on. I was too tired to wonder why they hadn’t.

I rolled over and pulled the covers up to my ears, settling into the softness. I had a moment to enjoy the comfort I was in before my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten in weeks, perhaps longer. My throat was dry and there was an awful taste in my mouth, but I wasn’t dizzy anymore. I sat still a while longer before I decided I’d take my chances and try to find some food.

I sat up quickly and waited for the room to stop spinning. Maybe I’d find something to drink as well.

I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A small table sat next to the bed and on top of that was a lounge robe like what rich people wear so they don’t get cigar ash on their fancy clothes. I picked up the note on top of the robe. “Mr. Rodney Skinner” it said in swirly letters.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I told the note. It might have been nice to have a pair of slippers to go with it; I thought as my bare feet landed on the cold wooden floor, still, this was comfortable and easy to get rid of if I needed to make a disappearance. I tied the robe loosely closed and set off to find wherever they kept the food.

The building was like a maze and it was full of things I’d think would go better in a museum. There were portraits of people who were probably all dead hanging everywhere. The only space left on the walls was taken up by strange inventions and other things that looked like they might fall apart if you breathed on them. A glass case held a human skull that looked a little bit larger than it should be, and it only had room for one eye. A wooden hat stand with a plaque claimed to hold the “Golden Helmet of Mambrino” but the strange looking bowl it held looked more like cheap brass, to me.

I wandered further and further, without seeing any trace of a kitchen. This was a lousy mansion/prison/museum if it didn’t even have food for me to eat.

“Mr. Skinner, glad to see you well again,” I whirled around to see a large man with a carefully manicured moustache. I didn’t recognize him. “For a while we were afraid you wouldn’t make it. That was quite the stunt you pulled, destroying your machine.”

“Yes, heh, well forgive me if I didn’t believe your doctor’s promises of employment,” I said, “Who are you, anyways?”

“Ah yes, Dr. Watson. We’d really have preferred hiring his teacher, you know. But with the events at Reichenbach, one can’t afford to be picky. We work with what we can get, however disappointing,” the way he looked at me said that I was the latest of these many disappointments. I decided I did not like this man. “As for me, I am Campion Bond of Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Believe it or not, Mr. Skinner, Watson was indeed telling the truth. The British Government is willing to hire you on as a special agent of her majesties forces. You would be given food and shelter, as well as anything else you could desire, until we had need of your… unique talents.” His smile was almost as greasy as his moustache.

I thought for a moment. Much as I didn’t enjoy the idea of becoming the government’s pet, the promise of food and shelter was very tempting. My stomach growled again. “Aheheh, well, I think that answers your question, doesn’t it, Mr. Bond?” I held out an invisible hand for him to shake and grinned when he seemed visibly put off by the empty sleeve. “You can count me in.”

He shook my hand tersely, trying to pull away from my tight grip as soon as he could. I held on a few moments longer, amused at his discomfort. He cleared his throat and wiped his hand on the front of his suit. “Well, let’s see what we can get you to eat.”

\---

Working for the British government ended up being a lot more boring than I had imagined. It was clear that all they really wanted from me was the assurance that I wasn’t out and about on my own. Now that I was healthy I was kept under lock and key and always followed by a few nameless agents in boring black suits. These blokes had no sense of humor and had likely been ordered not to talk to me because they made the most dull conversation partners I’d ever had.

Every once in a while Campion Bond would take me out to spy on some random diplomat for a night or two. Sometimes I would go through secret files, or lockpick my way into a private office. I was kept on a short leash, and I have to say that chafes after a while.

I began sneaking out of my mansion prison. It was surprisingly easy considering how set they were on keeping me locked up. Bond was less than amused with my adventures. He allowed it for a while because he could never fully prove I had been gone and besides I always came back. There really wasn’t anywhere else for me to go. I wasn’t giving up my shelter and food that easily. Hell, they’d even managed to save my coat and greasepaint from the fire, and I was grateful for that, really. I just wanted a little recognition. There’s only so long you can go without being acknowledged by anyone around you before it starts to get to you. I needed attention. At the beginning I could knock over a bookcase and they’d all startle and scatter, eventually they would hardly even look up from their boring government work.

It’s strange how much being invisible makes a man want to be seen. Sure, the stealth is a nice talent to have but when you can’t turn it off you begin to feel a bit like a ghost. You have to interact with the world just to make sure you’re still there. If you can’t cause a reaction then who’s to say you actually exist at all?

I began spending more and more time at the boarding school across the way, smashing dishes and scaring bullies away from the smaller children. They began to get quite the reputation. It was said that Miss Coote’s School for Disgraced Young Ladies and Troubled Young Gentlemen was haunted, plain and simple. There were even rumors that the numerous pregnancies of the young girls studying there were caused by the ghost, himself.

Aheheh, really that was quite flattering, but I had absolutely nothing to do with any so called miraculous conception at that school. That was one mystery with a far less sensational solution. I’d actually caught many couples entwined in the hallways and hideaways throughout the school. It was a boarding school filled with excited and impressionable young people and a neglectful headmistress, the source of these pregnancies seemed very obvious to me. Unfortunately, Bond wasn’t exactly convinced of my side of the story and sent someone to collect me from the school. I’m sure if you ask Mrs. Harker she’d be glad to tell you all about what happened. I daresay I made a pretty good first impression, considering the circumstances.

After that my freedoms decreased drastically. I was kept in a plush little cell where they brought me my food every day and watched me through a mirror window. Alone, I faded away almost to nothing. Only the objects moving away from my push proved that I might still exist in this world.

I was so dreadfully lonely I was actually happy to see that greasy rat Campion Bond when he finally came in to announce my new mission.

“Well now, Mr. Skinner, are we feeling a bit more cooperative today?”

“Depends. Are you still a fat bastard growing the ugliest goatee known to man?” Bond scowled, “Ah! You are! So, Bond, where does the Queen want to send me today? And know that my rates have increased, I won’t simply work for food anymore.”

“Her Majesty’s government does not negotiate with criminals,” Bond hissed, clearly still sour about the jab at his facial hair. Or maybe he was upset that I had been nothing but trouble since he’d taken me on as an agent. Jokes on him, though, I’d been nothing but trouble since as long as I could remember and probably longer.

I laughed to lighten the situation and infuriate him, “Oh really? Then what exactly are we doing here? Having a tea party? Aheheheh, actually, some refreshments would be lovely. You wouldn’t mind getting me some tea and those little shortbread biscuits with the lemon icing would you?” I asked the large mirror that served as one wall of my cell. Bond frowned at me, but waved a hand towards the mirror that I assumed meant “go on and do what he says.” Well, that answered the question of if the people watching could hear me as well. I grinned at Mr. Bond. I’d put on my greasepaint especially for this occasion, but had chosen to leave my dark glasses on the table next to me. He was so easily unsettled by my empty eye sockets.

“So, Mr. Skinner, what exactly is it that you want?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple,” I smiled, “Food, better food than you’ve been giving me. Some quality brandy might be nice. I would like occasional company, it does get lonely in this holding cell you locked me up in. And one more thing. I want a cure.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I want a cure. I’d like to be able to not be invisible sometimes. Griffin was working on one before he got kicked to death by an angry mob. Your scientists could figure it out, I’m sure.”

Campion Bond was quiet for a while. His lips pursed in thought. Finally, he gave in, “Complete this mission and we’ll see what we can do.”

I grinned at him, rows of invisible teeth making a gap between my grease-painted lips. “Well, you’ve got yourself a deal.” A man in a black suit brought in my tea and biscuits. “Oh, be a dear and bring me some sugar and gin to put in this, will you?” The man hesitated a moment before Campion Bond nodded and sent him on his way. “So, what’s this sneaky business you want me on? Another corrupt diplomat you want pinned? Oh, or am I to be watching someone’s cats?”

Bond opened his cigarette case and began preparing a smoke for himself. He snapped the case shut (a bright, shiny thing with a fat joker on it, woulda loved to get my filthy mitts on it) and brought out a matchbox. After lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag he finally decided to start talking. “In the past, the British government has called upon the services of unique individuals to protect her from threats to crown and country. When such a team is assembled, they are given a title: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.” I took a loud slurp of my tea. “The first recorded congregation of The League was in 1588, when her majesty Queen Elizabeth I called together an alliance of talented figures, led an exiled wizard king named Prospero. With their combined forces, the Crown was able to fend off attacks inbound from Spain. Throughout the years this agency has been assembled and disbanded. The last meeting of the League was at least one hundred years ago. Recently the League has been summoned again, and you have been personally called on to join its ranks. There is only one problem,” he paused dramatically. If there was one thing I could appreciate about Bond it was his dramatics, “Her Majesty has not authorized the reinstatement of the League.”

“Hmmm” I observed, thoughtfully. I would have added more valuable insight were my mouth not otherwise occupied with the tastiest shortbread I had ever eaten.

“Our sources have discovered the man behind this plot and where he plans to gather the League, however his further course of action is unclear. Your mission, simply put, is to join this League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Discover the plans of the man they call M, and report back to me when you do.” He took another drag of his cigarette, “You are to report in regularly, at least once a day. If you have learned nothing new since the previous day’s report, you are still to report back with your location. You are not to go joyriding and making your presence known to the general public. You are not to steal anything unrelated to the mission. And most importantly you are not to let anyone know of your involvement with the British government.” He glared at me, “Break any of these rules and you’ll be back to starving on the streets, likely dying of Cholera. Do I make myself clear?”

I winced. The starving and disease was a tender subject and I resented his implication that I was next to worthless without the backing of this shady government agency. I’d been doing just fine until Watson had flushed me out of hiding. “Crystal clear, Mr. Bond. Crystal Clear.”

“Your mission begins tomorrow.”

\---

I’m sure you’ve heard the story of the next few weeks a thousand times at least, so I’ll save you the sordid details. I carried out my mission as ordered, for the most part. There was a time in Venice when I thought of perhaps sneaking off where I would never hear of Her Majesty’s Secret Service or the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen again. I could start over, rob someone fantastically wealthy and use the money to set up some sort of shop or business. It would be dark and quiet and people would come bustling in and out. I would be nothing more than a local oddity. The thought was very tempting, so why didn’t I?

I’ll tell you why. I’d up and gotten attached to these goddamn extraordinary bastards. That’s my problem, I tell you. I care for people way too easily. I’d been with the League not even four days and in that time they’d shown nothing but distrust and hatred for me. I had no reason to help them. I owed them no loyalty, and if they believed I had betrayed them the chances of Campion Bond making good on his invisibility cure were slim to none. And yet… They actually talked to me. Sure, most of the time it was to insult me or tell me to shut up, but any reaction was better than the cold indifference I got from the Queen’s Secret Agent Service of Secretive Bastards Doing Secret Things or whatever they were officially called. Maybe after the weeks of isolation in Campion Bond’s prison mansion I was willing to love anyone who gave me the time of day. Maybe that sounds a little pathetic. Maybe it is.

In any case, I chose the League. And when Campion Bond showed up in Mongolia to collect me, I chose the League again.

On the journey through Africa, I was almost worried that we were done. Allan Quatermain’s cold stiff was all that was holding us together at that point. I couldn’t bring myself to hope that the League meant as much to everyone else as it did to me. I was terrified of being alone again. Hell, we actually had started getting along. Nemo was much less cold and distant than every account of him made him out to be. Anyone with eyes and ears could tell how protective he was of his crew and that fierce protectiveness seemed to extend to the rest of us as well. Mrs. Harker and I had our differences but the woman was out trying to save the world instead of settling down and eating all her loved ones, which I hear is the case for most vampires. I had to respect her for that. Jekyll had actually made an attempt to apologize to me for calling me a treacherous little snake or some other insult along those lines. That exchange had been awkward. Most exchanges with Henry Jekyll were awkward. I didn’t take it personally, though. The doctor was wrestling with his own demons and as a result he was hours of entertainment when he thought he was alone. I liked him. Still, none of them quite compared to Sawyer. The American lad was arguably the most normal of the lot of us and so he was terribly interested in all of our fascinating tales. He was the first person to talk to me like I was an actual human being since I’d last seen Alfie about two years earlier. He might have felt guilty for being the cause of my gorgeous new burn scars, but I wasn’t picky about the attention I received. I decided he’d be the one I missed most when we all went our separate ways.

We would go our separate ways. There was no use being optimistic about it. I had to be prepared for disappointment.

It was Nemo who suggested we stay on together. “You are all welcome to join me,” he said and I swear I could have married that bastard on the spot. I almost kissed him but as it is I’m pretty keen on having my limbs firmly attached to my body. And to be honest, I was a little dumbstruck that he had said this at all.

The rest of my companions hesitated a moment before Jekyll finally spoke up. “Hyde has been remarkably well behaved since he and I were given an actual purpose beyond drifting through life,” he admitted, “It’s a welcome change and I wouldn’t mind continuing it.” He sounded a little sad. I made a note to find out what exactly he had been doing in London and later in Paris. Maybe the doctor kept a diary? I doubted asking him about it would be a very good idea. “And, if you don’t mind my saying so, I believe we all make a rather remarkable team. It would be a shame to waste that.”

“I rather agree with you, doctor.” Mrs. Harker agreed, smiling at him, “And I’m sure my darker side would benefit from a more constructive outlet as well.” Jekyll flushed and dug into his pocket for his watch, a nervous habit of his I’d noticed. The thought of watching their awkward possible courtship unfold was already more entertaining than anything that had happened when I was under Campion Bond’s lock and key.

I looked towards Sawyer. The American hadn’t answered and given that Quatermain was gone I didn’t know if he would agree to come with us. I wished he would. The boy really needed some cheering up, and he was always more open to my nonsense than anyone else. “There isn’t anything left for me in the states,” he eventually said, kicking at the dirt with his boot, “I don’t know how much help I could be here, but count me in.” He turned to me and I realized I’d been so caught up hoping everyone else would agree that I was the only one who hadn’t answered yet. “Skinner?”

The four of them looked at me like they didn’t know what to expect. Without my paint they couldn’t have known that my wildest dreams were coming true. Still, hadn’t they been there when I had rejected a cushy government job in exchange for hauling a moldering corpse across Africa with them? I’d been beaten, bumped, bruised, frozen, and finally burned to half a crisp for these extraordinary bastards. Did they really think I was going to turn them down? I beamed at them, even though they couldn’t see it, and laughed, “What? D’you really think I’d travel all this way with you bloody arseholes if I didn’t like you? I’ll tell you right now, kids, you’ll be lucky if you ever get rid of me.” Jekyll and Nemo chuckled. Sawyer even managed a smile. Harker rolled her eyes, but I know I saw the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly. That was it, then. We were a team and we were officially staying a team, at least for a while longer.

And suddenly, the world seemed absolutely perfect.


End file.
